


Two Weeks

by Shibabbles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, cuddly Jemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shibabbles/pseuds/Shibabbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fitz navigates life after his trip to Maveth, where he watched a few people die, met (or thought he met) the man who Jemma pined for all this time, and then brutally sort-of murdered him. </p><p>Oh, and there's the fact that he hasn't slept for two weeks. </p><p>Or a grumpy Scot, a cuddly Brit and a shipping team of geniuses and assasins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Two weeks had passed.

Two long, tiring, sleepless weeks. Two weeks since the smell of burning flesh (at his hands) was real, two weeks since he’d had to face _her_ with the empty promises lost in his throat, lost back on Maveth. Two weeks since he witnessed his boss crush the chest in of their sworn enemy. It was a painful death. A horrible one.

At night, when Fitz didn’t smell the scent of burning flesh, like he was still on that planet, then he could hear the crunch of Ward’s chest as it caved in under Coulson’s hungry revenge.

Fitz wasn’t dumb, obviously. He knew Ward’s death was long overdue. He would never stop. He deserved it. But his stupid voice haunts Fitz now, too. _I would never hurt you, Fitz._ The words, his voice, play over and over in his head, like a dumb song he couldn’t stop singing. Logically, he knew there was no way back for Ward.

But Fitz wasn’t Ward. He never could be, no matter how much he may have wanted to be at one point or another. So, watching him die - something he’d fantasized about often, admittedly - didn’t leave him satisfied or feel avenged. He just felt _sick_ . And _empty._ And _sad._ Sad for Ward, for the things he believed in, for any trace of good in him that was blown away, for anyone he had ever loved.

Fitz couldn’t be angry at Coulson. He just couldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from the small flinch every time he saw him walk down the hall with this long, distant look on his face. He couldn’t even bring himself to start on Coulson’s new hand.

And that’s another thing, too. As if the weight of Will’s death wasn’t heavy on his mind, the knowledge that he had played such a big part in the creation of the weapon that killed Ward was just something to add on top of everything else.

So now, Fitz doesn’t sleep. Instead, he lays awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to close and then the subsequent night terrors as his mind plays dirty tricks on him again and again.

He bloody _hated_ it.

For all the wonderful things Fitz could do with his mind, he was also a victim to it. He was its prisoner. And he was just... _tired._

One would think, maybe, that two _fucking_ weeks without a proper amount of sleep would allow one’s mind to rest in peace for a few hours. Instead, it’s worse. Instead, he gets the haunting image of Will’s burning face, skin melting off as he screams at Fitz that he did this, that he deserved to go back to _her_ , that she deserved to see him one last time…

Fitz’s eyes flew open and to his shock, he finds Mack, Bobbi, Jemma, Daisy and Hunter standing over him, looking horrified. His immediate reaction is to scream in surprise but then, Fitz realizes, he already _is_ screaming.

 _Ah. That would explain the wake-up party._ Fitz immediately stops, shutting his mouth. His friends stare down at him in concern, until Mack speaks up.

“Turbo, what’s going on with you?”

Fitz rubs his chest, as if that would help the powerful _thud thud thud_ ding of his heart. “Nothing. I - bad dream. Go back to bed.”

Mack looks concerned but retreats, followed by Bobbi and Daisy. Hunter and Jemma hesitate, and Hunter speaks up. “You sure you’re okay, mate?”

“I’m sure. Really, it’s fine.” He forces himself to meet Jemma’s eyes, something he’d been avoiding for the last fortnight. “Really.”

Hunter glances at Jemma briefly before turning back to Fitz. “Okay. Well, for the record, some brandy will knock you out like a baby for a solid ten hours.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He forces a smile, holding it until the rest of them are safely out of his room. It fades immediately after. Fitz sits up, placing his head between his knees and taking deep breaths. _Jesus._

He’s not sure how long he stays in that position - maybe minutes, maybe hours. Who cares, really? But it’s only when he hears her soft, tentative voice that he lifts his head - a little _too_ quickly, and he feels lightheaded for a few moments before he can focus on her.

“Fitz?”

Jemma is standing at the entrance to his room, wringing her hands nervously. He stares at her, unsure what to do or say. He feels a now-familiar lump in his throat when she speaks to him.

“I’m fine, Jemma, really. You don’t need to check up on me-”

“No, that’s not - I - it’s okay.” She reaches up and presses her fingers to her forehead, frowning. “You don’t have to lie to me,” she says finally, looking up to meet his eyes. He stares back at her in slight shock, unsure of what to say. “I know you Fitz, I know you’re not sleeping well.”

He says nothing, and she swallows before continuing. “I may be able to help.”

***

“Jemma, you know I’ve never been much of a movie pers-”

“-will you just _try_ it, Fitz? It’s not going to kill you.” Jemma looks determined as she pushes the movie into the xbox. “It helps you stop thinking. I’ve been dealing with this, just trust me. Will you?” She looks up at him, and he swallows hard.

“Okay.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, and Fitz’s heart stops for a moment because it’s almost like she’s going to smile, and he just doesn’t know how to deal with _that_ Jemma. Not anymore. But it’s gone as soon as it begins, and instead she nods, uttering her own soft, “okay then.”

So he stays silent as she puts the movie in, hands him a cup of _decaf_ tea (her insistence), and spreads a blanket over them - large enough to cover each of them without touching.

Only, it’s Jemma, so of course she sidles right up to his side, crossing her legs so that her knee is basically resting on his thigh. She holds her mug with both hands, eyes trained on the TV as the movie’s opening credits begin. Fitz kind of stares at her. She hasn’t been this close to him in weeks.

“Watch,” she urges, having felt his gaze. Fitz blushes and turns to the TV, forcing himself to pay attention to Kate Winslet miserably pining over some fellow she worked with.

It takes Jemma all of twenty minutes to doze off. Fitz is actually starting to get into the movie, watching Cameron Diaz struggle to sleep through a plane ride, so he doesn’t actually notice until he feels a gentle weight press into his shoulder. When he looks down, he finds that Jemma has melted into his side a little, eyes closed and breathing deeply, her empty tea mug abandoned on her lap. Fitz stares in surprise, but doesn’t move. At least one of them could get some sleep around here.

***

It’s around 6 in the morning when Fitz’s eyes fly open, and the first thing he notices is the smell of Jemma’s hair...which also happens to be where his face is buried. Well. That would explain things. He lifts his head slowly and glances around. Some time during the night, they had both sprawled across the couch, blanket twisting all around their legs haphazardly. Jemma was asleep in front of him, clutching her empty mug to her chest while Fitz had his arm around her, snuggled right up against one another.

He swallows hard. While she was fine with sharing a couch with him, Fitz is fairly certain she wouldn’t want to be seen like this with him. He very carefully removes his arm from around her, sitting up and slowly untangling his legs from the blanket. Fitz stops when he hears her make a little noise, but she only buries her face deeper into the cushion, sound asleep. He spreads the blanket over her and gently places her mug on the floor, before making his way back to his room.

Part of him expects it, but it’s still disappointing when Fitz crawls back into the cold, empty sheets of his own bed and closes his eyes, only to be greeted by the familiar dreaded images once again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz doesn’t sleep at _all_ the rest of the morning, despite sleeping soundly for more hours in one night than he can recount in the last couple of weeks. It still isn’t enough, though, and he’s back in the kitchen the next morning, getting his usual strong cup of coffee (tea just doesn’t do it anymore).

He’s just finished dumping another packet of sugar into it in an attempt to help deal with the bitterness when Jemma walks into the kitchen, hair rumpled and eyes still half closed. Fitz immediately blushes, then feels stupid for it. “Morning,” he greets shortly, forcing his gaze back to the task at hand.

“Morning, Fitz.” Jemma opens the fridge to get the milk. “How was the film?”

He glances up to find Jemma watching him curiously, an almost... _nervous?_...expression on her face. He scratches his cheek awkwardly. “I never made it through,” Fitz finally admits sheepishly, looking anywhere but at her. “Guess you were right.”

“Hmm.” Jemma places the carton of milk on the counter, opening a cabinet for a mug. “You still look quite exhausted.” She fills the kettle with water, turning the stove on.

Fitz stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

Jemma stops working, leaning against the counter to observe him. He returns his gaze to her, hand nervously smoothing over the back of his head as he waits for her to respond.   

“Well, we can watch again, if you like. Earlier this time, so maybe you can sleep some more.”

He nods, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You don’t have to - I mean don’t feel obligated to try and help me.”

“I don’t,” she responds quickly, frowning. “It helps me too, Fitz.”

He nods, grabbing his coffee mug. “See you in the lab.” He leaves her in the kitchen, feeling about as confused and torn as she looks.

 

***

 

“Stupid bloody piece of SHIT.” Fitz angrily shoves the contents on his desk away, and they clatter to the ground loudly. From her spot at the lab, Jemma nearly falls out of her chair, alarmed.

“Fitz, what is the matter with you?!”

Red-faced from anger and frustration, Fitz points accusingly at the little mechanical parts that are now scattered on the floor across his part of the lab. “They won’t do what I’m telling them to. The - the stupid calculations, they’re all buggered up-”

 Jemma stands up to inspect the damage. “What calculations?”

 Fitz runs a shaky hand across his jaw, trying to clear his mind and find the right words again. “For the - the, umm…” He shuts his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. He can practically feel Jemma opening her mouth to help, and he holds up a hand before she can even try. “ _Don’t_ ,” he warns her. “I will figure it out, I just need a minute.”

 Jemma closes her mouth, an unreadable expression on her face. Fitz turns away, taking deep breaths. “I’m trying to make the pressure points less sensitive. Otherwise, the hand will just…” he gestures wildly, feeling his face redden. “It will be too responsive, and...powerful.” He refuses to meet her eye, not wanting to see the look on her face when she realizes what he’s trying to do, and why.

 “Oh, Fitz…”

 He waits, but she doesn’t continue. So he does. “It’s just...maybe less power...is better. In the long run.”

 “What if he doesn’t want that, Fitz? He was finally getting comfortable with the hand-”

 “Hands aren’t meant to crush rib cages in, Jemma,” Fitz cuts in. He picks up some of the pieces that lay on the ground, placing them back on his desk. “Not mine, anyway.”

 Fitz leaves the lab, unable to stare at her sad, sorry face any longer. He ignores the echoing crunch in his ear as his mind plays the moment over and over again. The way that must have felt...each finger, pressing slowly and painfully into bone so that it snaps under the pressure, caves in, muscle and all, and slowly crushes into the heart until it can’t beat anymore…

 Was this what Victor Frankenstein felt like?

 

***

 

The grumpiness doesn’t leave Fitz all day, and he’s in his workshop moping when the door opens, casting a bright beam of light across his workspace, where he’d been tinkering with a new computer model.

 Jemma steps into the room, looking determined as ever. Fitz can tell because if Jemma was herself, she’d be entirely distracted by the brand new, unreleased hard drives that were sitting on his desk. Instead, she focuses on him. “It’s late. I don’t think moping will really help you sleep.”

 Fitz turns back to a particular wire that has been giving him hell. “And how do you know I’m moping?”

 “Because I wasn’t born yesterday. You always try to build a new computer when you’re upset.”

  _Ugh_. About 80 percent of the time, Fitz is truly grateful for how well they know each other. But it can get considerably inconvenient, especially when he’s trying to be (unnecessarily) passive aggressive towards life in general. Jemma continues. “So put that down. Let’s go watch our movie. You haven’t even eaten supper, have you? I’ll go heat some of the pasta.”

 Fitz drops his tools. “I can take care of myself!”

 “Really? Because so far you’re doing a piss poor job of it!”

 Fitz feels a bolt of anger go through him momentarily, but it’s immediately replaced by indifference. “If I want to rot away in here, I’m perfectly capable of making that decision on my own, thank you.”

 Jemma huffs in frustration. “Leo, I’m heating pasta and you’re going to watch the damned movie with me.”

 Fitz raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t protest. Well _someone’s_ getting snarky.

 He rather likes it.

 

***

 

Fitz is fairly certain he’s never been this comfortable in his life.

 Actually, that’s a lie. Third year at the academy, exam week. He and Jemma had been reading notes for hours, laying on his bed, when she dozed off on his shoulder. Jemma, when presented with unwarranted amounts of stress, tends to get rather snuggly. So the morning of their exam, they’d woken up with a gargantuan textbook as their blanket and Fitz’s shoulder as her pillow. That was when he’d realized how comfortable girls...well particularly Jemma, really...could be.

 Only now, things were far, far more complicated. A level of complicated that really, if reflected on, would make anyone else laugh in incredulity. Honestly, how many blokes out there could really say they’ve woken up next to a girl whose boyfriend they mutilated a mere two weeks prior? And yet, there she was. Curled up on his shoulder like they’d been studying all night again. The game console was still on, the TV frozen in the loop of the movie’s menu screen. And Fitz felt _so_ rested.

 Fitz allows himself a solid five minutes of complete indulgence, before finally sliding away from her. He checks the time. Six am. No wonder - the last time he’d slept, uninterrupted, for a full night...well, it had been a while.. He carefully adjusts the blanket so that it cocoons Jemma just how she likes it, before tiptoeing to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

 “Morningggg, Fitz.” The voice comes out of nowhere, making Fitz jump and swear quietly. He spins around to find Daisy standing before him, her own mug in her hand and a smug look on her face. Dear _God_.

 “Can I help you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

 “Nope.” Daisy leans against the counter, smirking. “So. You two finally get over your weirdness?”

 Fitz turns his attention to the steaming mug of water and the tea bag, watching it seep. “Not exactly.”

 “So..you haven’t talked about it?”

 “There’s nothing more to talk about. Everything’s been said.”

 Daisy immediately places her mug on the counter, leaning forward meaningfully. “What do you mean, Fitz?”

 He shakes his head. “No, Daisy, I -”

 “Fitz, _please._ I’ve been so busy with this inhuman stuff, I’ve been such a shitty friend. This isn’t for you, it’s so I feel a little less like an ass.” She smiles a little. “Please? I miss you guys, I miss...all of this. Tell me anything. I saw you two asleep. You looked really cozy,” she adds hopefully. “I’d hoped maybe that meant-”

 “It means she knows I haven’t been sleeping and she thinks she’s helping me by watchin some silly movies. I don’t think Jemma exactly approaches this with the intention of falling asleep _on_  me.”

 To his surprise, Daisy smirks devilishly at him. “Aww, Fitz. You’ve grown so much but you’re still your same naive, self-deprecating self. I love that. You and I both know that girl knows what she’s doing.”

Fitz frowns, not sure which part of that response he should be offended about first. Daisy pushes herself off the countertop, snatching her coffee with one hand and ruffling his hair with another, making his scowl deepen. “You two will figure it out. I believe in you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, guys. Work has been crazy! But I worked like hell to get this chapter up so that it can be read before part 2 of season 3 comes on (YAYYYYY!) and we can pretend it's canon for like...24 more hoursish.

* * *

 

Fitz is grumpy.

For one thing, there’s been a series of brutal and mysterious deaths along the coasts of Brazil, and Hunter has taken it upon himself to force everyone on the base to listen to horribly depressing  Portuguese news. And for another, Jemma had finally made the trip to Sheffield following a very loud, very emotional discussion with her parents over the phone. That was ten days ago.

Fitz also hadn’t slept properly in about ten days.

He’s laying on his bed, flipping aimlessly through an advanced rubik’s cube that he’d designed himself, hoping maybe he could just bore himself to death (or just to unconsciousness), when there’s a sharp knock at the door. Before he can even respond, the door opens and Coulson appears, earning a frown from Fitz. They’d been doing a rather exemplary job of avoiding one another since Maveth.

“Fitz, we need you. The situation in Brazil just escalated, and we have to go, now.”

Fitz drops the cube from his hands and scrambles to his feet.

As they walk to the Zephyr, Coulson briefs him quickly. “We are starting to believe there’s an inhuman who is responsible for the murders along the coast. We’re bringing Daisy and her team, but need you to get the DWARFs close enough to know what we’re dealing with before I send my agents out there...and to disarm, if possible.” They reach the Bus, where Hunter and May are waiting at the entrance. Fitz follows them inside, where Daisy, Lincoln and Joey are having a discussion.

“...I’m telling you, these murders are accidents,” Lincoln insists to his partners, arms crossed.

“Be reasonable, Lincoln. Maybe the first one , but seven? Come on,” Joey argues. “I mean, I was melting metal and freaking out but I was still practical enough to know not to touch anyone-”

“That’s because SHIELD got to you in time. You have no idea what this guy may be going through, how confused he is-”

“Guys,” Daisy cuts in. “Let’s stop making judgements before we even get there. We’re here to keep people safe on both sides. So just focus on the task at hand, okay? The rest will be discussed later, you know the drill.” She gets up and goes to join May and Bobbi at the cockpit. Fitz settles on one of the couches beside Joey, opening the case where he keeps his DWARFs to adjust the settings. He blinks slowly as he snatches Sleepy first, checking the heat sensor and cloaking tech on his tablet.

“Shit!” He exclaims, dropping Sleepy and shaking his hand quickly before inspecting the finger he’d just accidentally burned.

Hunter watches him curiously. “You alright there, mate?”

Fitz sucks on his finger and shakes it again. “M’fine. Accidentally set off the heated repellants.” He picks Sleepy up and replaces the DWARF back into its slot, before leaning back and rubbing his eyes.

Hunter doesn't look convinced. “Right. Well why don't you go get some sleep, then. Look like you could use it.”

“Sure,” Fitz nods, getting to his feet and taking the case of DWARFs with him. “I'll be in my bunk.”

Fitz heads straight for his bunk, knowing full well that he won’t be getting any sleep at _all_. But perhaps resting a little will be better than nothing at all.

As expected, Fitz simply ends up laying there for hours, staring at nothing until he finally decides to tinker with the newest DWARF update he’d been working on. He blinks slowly, trying to think through the exhaustion as he experiments with code arrangements on his laptop. He can’t help but wonder what Jemma is up to at that moment. Probably curled up on an armchair with a blanket and warm cup of coffee, perfectly rested. He hopes so, anyway. One of them could use it. He hadn’t realized how helpful the movie nights with her had really been until she left. Fitz just assumed he’d finally exhausted himself out of sleepless nights, but clearly there was a common denominator in the nights he could sleep versus the nights he couldn’t. The thought makes him a little dizzy. Had he really become so attached? That just wouldn’t do. _Fuck_ , did all this thinking make his head hurt. Fitz puts his laptop away, unable to focus on much of anything. A knock on the door distracts him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” Fitz calls out. The door opens slowly and Hunter peeks inside. His face reflects concern the moment his eyes land on Fitz.

“Fitz, are you alright? Looking quite peaky, mate.”

Fitz shakes his head. “Fine, just a bad headache. Are we nearly there?”

Hunter nods. “Coulson wants you to prep so we can send the DWARFs out - woah, woah, careful!”

Fitz stood up too quickly, causing his vision to spot. He sways on the spot while Hunter holds onto his arm.

“That’s it, I’m telling Coulson you need a day off-”

“-No,” Fitz counters firmly. “I’m telling you, I’m fine. Stood up too quickly. I got it though, thank you.” He grabs the DWARFs and heads towards the door, Hunter at his heels.

“Well at least grab a bite to eat before we get out on the field. Put some color on you. 

Fitz nods in agreement, but instead of the fridge, he heads straight for the espresso machine.

 

***

 Fitz blinks hard as he stares at his computer screen, at a complete loss as to why Basher won’t sync up to the other DWARFs. He presses his finger into his temple and rubs it as he maneuvers Sleepy towards the subject, careful to keep it hidden. “How’s it look?” Daisy asks, peering over his shoulder.

“Not sure yet.” He slowly flies Dopey and Sleepy, hovering them at a safe distance. The subject is a middle-aged man, leaning against the side of a building with his face in his hands.

“Can you take it closer?” Daisy leans forward, staring intently at the screen. “He looks distraught. Can we send him a message?”

Fitz nods. “I can send a voice memo through Sleepy. Just say what you want it to tell him.” He opens the DWARF software and taps the _record_ button.

“Franco...my name is Daisy. I’m here to help you, okay? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Fitz flies Sleepy towards the man, Franco, and plays out the message. Franco looks up, shocked. Fitz gulps. He has strange welts over his face, and it’s clear he’s in pain.

Daisy taps Fitz’s shoulder impatiently, much to his annoyance. “You’re taking the readings, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “‘Course I’m takin the bloody readings. Do you even know me?!”

“Sorry,” Daisy chuckles, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Jemma usually does it, just wanted to make sure you’ve got it...especially considering how you don’t sleep.”

“How do you know that?” Fitz asks sharply, momentarily distracted.

“You don’t handle losing sleep well, Fitz. I may have been a shitty friend lately but I’m not shitty enough not to notice _that_.” She points at the screen suddenly, making Fitz turn back to it. “Bring it closer to him, he seems interested. I’ll grab the guys and we can go talk to him. Keep me updated on the readings, kay? Guys, let’s go!”

 Daisy stands up and leaves Fitz alone to watch the man as he stares in wonder at the DWARF. The little drone flies even closer, until finally Franco reaches out to touch it. A tiny _beep_ catches Fitz’s attention, and he glances down at the readings before his eyes nearly pop out of his head in horror. He scrambles to his feet, ignoring the spots in his vision as he rushes out, holding his laptop.

 “DAISY, LINCOLN, STOP!” He roars, sprinting towards the door. “STOP!” Coulson suddenly appears out of nowhere, grabbing onto Fitz.

 “Woah, Fitz, slow down. What’s going on?”

 “They can’t touch him, he’s been releasing such a high dose of radiation that it’s cooking his victims alive from the inside. Call them back _NOW._ ”

 Coulson stares at him for a split second more before speaking into his earpiece, calling the inhumans back to the aircraft. Fitz clutches onto a wall, swaying as the sudden movements catch up to him. Before he knows it, everything glows a little too brightly, the room doubles - no, _triples_ \- and suddenly, everything is black.

 

***

 “...Just exhaustion. He needs rest. Hasn’t been the same since that freaky planet…” Bobbi’s voice is the first thing Fitz hears as he comes to, now lying on a couch in the Zephyr. He blinks away the black spots in his eyes. His head pounds.

 Hunter is the first to notice his regain in consciousness, and smirks. “Well hello there, sleeping beauty.”

 “What happened to the others? Where is the inhuman?”

 Bobbi places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Relax, we dealt with it. He’s in good hands and no one will be exposed. More importantly, how are you feeling?” She kneels down and shines a light into each eye.

 “I’m fine, just a bad headache.”

 “Headaches are a symptom, not a diagnosis,” Bobbi reminds him gently. “So it’s clearly being caused by something.” She holds a bottle out to him. “Fitz, you can have help now and then. Just tell someone. Here, take these when we get back to base. You need a real night’s sleep, okay?”

 Fitz accepts the bottle, nodding. “Okay.”

 “Good.” She smiles, squeezing his shoulder. She’s just about to leave the room when something suddenly occurs to Fitz.

 “Bobbi, wait,” he calls out, making her stop in her tracks. She spins around, and he continues. “Please, just...don’t tell Jemma about this, okay?”

 The guilty look etched on her face tells him all he needs to know. “Coulson briefed her 20 minutes ago.”

 

***

“I'm fine, I can walk,” Fitz grumbles as Bobbi tries to help him down the ramp of the Zephyr.

 “Okay, but straight to bed. And _take that medicine_. I’m serious, Fitz.” Bobbi nods at the bottle of pills in his hand.

 Fitz nods, looking serious. “I promise, I’ll take it. I’m exhausted and would love some sleep.”

 Bobbi nods in approval, before reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. He smiles and heads back to his room, immediately changing into pajamas and taking one of her pills. He may be stubborn, but he isn’t _stupid_. There is nothing wrong with a little modern science and medicine nudging the human body in the right direction.

 Fitz collapses into his bed, staring up at the ceiling absently, thinking about Jemma. Bobbi hadn’t told him anything more. She would be back soon, anyway. He blinks slowly, feeling his eyelids get heavier and heavier until he finally drifts off into a - rather fitful, but you can’t have it all - slumber. Hazy dreams of Will’s angry, burning flesh flash in his mind. Will reaches out to grab him, until suddenly the sand swallows him and he's free falling. His eyes fly open to something- no, some _one_ \- kneeling on his bed.

 A gentle hand touches his forehead. He could recognize that smell anywhere. Like Jemma. Like home.

 Fitz doesn't move, too groggy to and half expecting her to leave any minute. Only, to his surprise, she instead pulls the covers back and crawls in, pulling his arm over her and burying her face in his chest.

 In the dead of night, he curls his arm tightly around her and feels her melt into him.

 

***

The first thing Fitz checks when he wakes up the next morning is whether Jemma is still there (if she was ever really there in the first place). He reaches out in front of him, finding nothing but empty mattress. Though, notably, still _warm_.

 And her hair. He can definitely smell her hair. Fitz opens his eyes, wanting to believe. The pillow next to his has an imprint on it, clearly. He places his hand over it - yep, also warm. Definitely warm. Human warm.

 Without thinking, Fitz pulls the suspecting pillow towards him, laying his head on it. The smell of Jemma’s hair engulfs his senses. There is no way in hell he’s just imagining this. She felt so _real_ , she really did. And cozy, and comforting, and god _damn_ it, he’s still so pathetically hung up for her that it makes his chest hurt. It hurts to know that he couldn’t even bring her closure with Will. The only reason he could ever have just held her like that was because of Will. And Fitz left the poor guy on the planet that claimed him decades ago, charred and broken and not even with a proper burial. _That_ was on him.

 “I’m sorry, Will,” he whispers into the ceiling. Fitz lays there for a few more moments, collecting himself, before finally throwing the covers back and heading to the kitchen for some tea.

 There, he finds Jemma, holding a mug of tea to her chest and staring off, looking a little unfocused.

 “Jemma.” She startles and turns to him, before breaking into a knee-weakening smile.

 “Oh, Fitz,” she greets warmly, setting her tea aside and pulling him in for a long hug, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. _Is he sure he didn’t just imagine everything?_ “How are you feeling?” She pulls back to inspect his face, concern written all over hers. He can’t even meet her eyes.

 “Better.”

 Jemma nods, watching, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, Fitz pulls away from her, grabbing a mug for tea. She stands watching him, wringing her hands anxiously. “Fitz, I - sorry if last night was t-too much, or just...uncalled for, I just…”

 Fitz stops, looking up at her with curious eyes. Jemma takes a deep, steadying breath.

 “I bloody missed you and I haven’t slept at _all_ since I left and then I heard that you weren’t doing so well...” She lets out a breath. “And I really _bloody_ missed you.”

 Fitz forces a little half-smile, hoping it reassures her somehow. “I missed you too, Jemma. And you don’t have to worry about me-”

 “-But that’s just it, I _am_ worried about you,” Jemma argues, striding up to stand in front of him. “You - you’re not yourself since you went. And I know I haven’t been, but you’ve been incredible to me, Fitz, and I at least owe you-”

 “Jemma.” Fitz meets her eyes for the first time since walking into the kitchen. “You don’t owe me a thing, okay? I went willingly, I did what needed to be done, and you’re alive. That’s it.”

 “That’s _not_ just it,” she argues, looking at him fiercely. “You’re alive too, Fitz. That doesn’t just count for something, that counts for _everything_ . I - you _know_ what I - _ugh_.” She presses her fingers to her forehead.

 Fitz stares at her with sad eyes. “Jemma-”

 “- just don’t give up on me,” she interrupts, staring at him. Fitz shakes his head and hugs her. She clutches onto him, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t give up on me,” she whispers again, softly.

“No,” Fitz mutters, voice cracking a little from emotion. “Never.”


End file.
